


In The Morning

by TheMipstaz



Series: We Are Still Breathing [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Cemetery, Derek Hale Needs a Hug, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Derek Needs To Use His Words, Established Relationship, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, like barely but it's there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-03 18:09:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4110220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMipstaz/pseuds/TheMipstaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They said, "You've got a lot going<br/>You should be happy"<br/>But none of this will matter in the morning<br/>No, none of this will wash my pain away<br/>And it won't save my soul<br/>When I decide it's time to go<br/>And none of this will matter in the morning</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's Been 3 Years To The Day (Since I Watched It All Burn Down)

**Author's Note:**

> So I pre-ordered Former Vandal's ([Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/user/quinnwentz) and [Soundcloud](https://soundcloud.com/formervandal)) newest album Fragile Fixtures and I'm fucking obsessed. So this is, obviously, one of the [songs](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sC50VS0-3Jg) on it and it has such a Derek vibe it's not even funny. So I'm thinking this takes place after the Alpha Pack and before the Nogitsune.
> 
> Also, I've got two other parts planned based on the other verses of the lyrics. One w/Derek and Laura after the fire in NYC and one immediately after the fire. I hope you guys like this.
> 
> Also posted on [Tumblr](http://nevergooutofstiles.tumblr.com/post/121164575985/in-the-morning-part-i).

_It's been 3 years to the day_  
_Since I watched it all burn down_  
_Things have been alright_  
_I guess things have seemed just fine_  
_But I don't feel okay_

* * *

The worst part about getting back on his feet, about finding some semblance of happiness, is that Derek sort of forgot what it felt like to be sad. It sounds surreal, if Derek’s being honest. Three years ago, if someone told him that he would someday find a amber-eyed, mole-speckled reason to roll out of bed every morning and not suffer from the crushing guilt of having killed his entire family every second of every day, Derek would’ve laughed in their face. But here he is, falling head over heels in love with someone who reminds Derek each day that he is so much more than his past.

So yeah, Derek may have gone soft over the years. The feeling of not being able to stand what’s reflected in the mirror has faded, and the nights where he misses his family so much that he can hardly breathe are fewer and farther between. And that’s why, when a bad day—which has been long overdue—finally hits, it’s less like a rainy day and more like a Goddamn thunderstorm.

So when Stiles has to use his key to unlock the front door of the loft—Derek gave him it several months into their relationship once he realized summer meant Stiles spending more hours at Derek’s than his own house—because his werewolf somehow didn’t hear the jeep rumbling down the road, he knows something’s up. Stiles hasn’t had to use his key in ages. He can typically rely on Derek’s wolfy ears to hear him coming, so the door is almost always sliding open for him.

Usually when unexpected stuff happens, it means shit has hit the fan spectacularly, so Stiles can’t be held responsible for the worry that makes his heartbeat a little faster and his voice a little higher. “Derek?” If he shoves the door open with a little more force than necessary, well no one has to know.

But the loft seems to be empty. The stove is off, the couch is empty, everything is quiet. Suddenly feeling a shiver go down his spine, Stiles takes a moment to breathe deeply through his nose. And slip a hand into his jacket pocket to finger at the small vial of mountain ash he has stored there.

Over the years he’s learned that the grey powder is pretty effective against most supernatural nasties and has taken to carrying around a bit for unexpected emergencies. His boyfriend’s creepy, seemingly abandoned loft isn’t quite what Stiles had in mind when he started stashing mountain ash everywhere from the glove compartment of his jeep to his underwear drawer, but it’s steadily making its way there.

Stiles bites down the urge to call out Derek’s name again. He should’ve heard the first time, and Stiles has no interest in giving his position away to any less than benevolent creatures that might be lurking around.

His steps are light and careful, his center of gravity low as he cautiously makes his way into the loft. Of course, Stiles still manages to stub his toe on the table and the litany of curses his lets out is enough to turn a sailor’s hair white, but it’s the thought that counts.

Once he’s cleared the main living area, even checking under the couch and finding nothing but dust bunnies, Stiles steels himself to climb the spiraling steel staircase in the corner. Several months ago, he’d finally managed to convince Derek that the corner of the living room was not an adequate spot for one’s bed.

It took a lot of finagling, but Stiles excels at persuasive talk if nothing else.

_“If the pack walks in on us fucking, I’m never gonna forgive you.”_

_“They’re werewolves for God’s sakes, Stiles.”_

_“Clearly you don’t spend enough time with Scott when he’s mooning over Allison. Ha, mooning! Get it? ‘Cause you’re werewolves? Anyways, not the point. One time, I literally recited_ The Raven _line by line to Scotty when he was talking about Allison’s hair. Every time he stopped to breathe, I just sort of nodded and was like, ‘Quoth the Raven Nevermore.’ I got about two thirds of the way before he realized what I was doing.”_

So the point is that Derek’s bed is now on the second level and Stiles probably should’ve checked there first. It’s Derek’s safe place where no one, not even the pack, is allowed without his express permission.

Although, that rule generally doesn’t apply to Stiles because he knows for a fact Derek likes when their scents are mixed together. Okay, so maybe Derek didn’t say it in as many words, but Stiles could tell, alright? He’s an expert in translating the werewolf’s impressively expressive eyebrows at this point. He’s also not an idiot and doesn’t miss the contented rumble Derek makes whenever Stiles spends the night or wears his clothes.

Stiles creeps up the stairs, but since no deadly beast has tried to kill, maim, and/or eat him by now, he’s really not that concerned for his immediate safety anymore. If something evil wanted him dead, they would have tried something already.

However, it’s a short reprieve because the instant that Stiles’ eyes clear the landing, he knows that the loft is empty. The bed is still made and nothing is out of place from how he and Derek left it this morning when Stiles had rolled like a zombie out of bed to go running with Scott like he’d promised, dragging half the coverlet with him, and Derek had grumbled and wriggled over to Stiles’ side to press his nose to the vacated spot.

Saturdays were cheat days for the wolf’s strict regime, and Stiles would’ve glared lasers at Derek’s sleeping back if he wasn’t so tired he was about to fall over. Who the fuck decided 6AM is an appropriate hour to get up on the weekend anyways? Scott McCall, that’s who.

Now, Stiles’ phone is out of his pocket in a flash as he quickly jogs down the stairs, running a worried hand through his hair. His finger is just about to punch the speed dial for Scott when he remembers that he just spent half his day with his best friend, so it’s pointless to call. Time for Plan B.

“Hey, Lydia, have you seen Derek today?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I was hanging out with Scott earlier, but now Derek’s not at the loft and it’s almost, like, 3.” Okay, so he and Scott may have started a video game marathon and possibly eaten back all the calories they burned earlier, but whatever.

“You were with Scott today?” Lydia’s voice is tight and controlled, but Stiles gets the feeling that it’s more like barely restrained…anger?

“Um, yes?” He scratches his head, standing in the middle of the loft confusedly. “That is what best bros do, so…”

“Stiles.” Yep, she definitely sounds pissed, but Stiles can’t even begin to wonder what it’s about. “What is the date today?”

“Uh, April… twenty-seventh? Wait, no. Twenty-eighth.”

“Yes,” Lydia says impatiently like she’s deigning to talk to a stupid child. “And what’s special about today?”

“You look extra beautiful today?” Stiles is at a total loss, but something is niggling at the back of his mind. It feels important. Not like his great aunt’s ninety-seventh birthday, but really important. Fuck.

“Stiles, why didn’t Derek come to any of the recent pack gatherings? Like movie night and that dinner last week.”

The non sequitur throws Stiles for yet another loop. His eyebrows scrunch up. “Because he was kinda, like, majorly down in the dumps because the anniversary of his family’s death was… Oh shit. Holy shitballs, Lyds. Please tell me I didn’t forget the day Derek’s entire fucking family was _burned alive._ ”

“I can’t, hon.”

“Oh my fucking God,” groans Stiles, already racing out the door and narrowly forgetting to lock up. “I know I’m a fucking mess on a good day, but even I’m amazing at just how epically I screwed up. Jesus, I am the worst fucking boyfriend ever. I hope Derek dumps my sorry ass. No wait, I take it back. I’m shitty, but I don’t wanna be shitty _and_ single. Is that selfish?”

“Not that I’m gonna contradict this self-aimed diatribe,” Lydia replies helpfully, “but if you think this is in any way, shape, or form threatening to your guys’ relationship, then you need to stop right now and re-evaluate your entire life.”

“Uh, I sorta forgot the anniversary of his entire family’s death,” Stiles points out dubiously as he shuts the jeep door and yanks the seat belt across his chest. “I think that is more than enough reason to tell me to go fuck myself. And not in the good way.”

“You really don’t see it, do you?” The awe in Lydia’s voice would make Stiles internally preen if he didn’t somehow feel like she was amazed by his ignorance.

“What’re you talking about?” Stiles’ fingers twitch impatiently toward the gear shift, but he’s still on the phone and his jeep doesn’t have Bluetooth. Not only is he less than eager to get a huge ass fine for talking and driving, but Stiles also likes both his testicles right where they are, thank you very much, so he wouldn’t dream of hanging up on Lydia.

“Stiles, most people would say that Derek looks at you like you hung the moon. But I’m telling you that what he really does is look at you like you _are_ the moon.”

And Stiles doesn’t really have anything to say to that, so he sits there uselessly gaping like a fish and wasting precious seconds that he could be using to close the difference between himself and his sad boyfriend. Because the anniversary means that there’s only one place Derek and his brooding eyebrows could possibly be.

* * *

“Sometimes, I don’t know why I feel like this. It’s stupid. I know I should be happy. I have everything I ever dared to hope for after the fire: Stiles, the pack. It’s so much more than I ever deserve. So why do I still feel this way?” Derek doesn’t really expect an answer from the inanimate tombstones surrounding him, but a tiny part of him is still disappointed anyways. It’s been three years since he’s been forced to look elsewhere for direction and guidance, but that doesn’t stop Derek from occasionally returning to his family in the hope that maybe he’ll somehow stumble upon all the answers he and Laura could never find on their own.

“God, I just really fucking miss you guys. It’s like, I still look around to tell Laura something or Mom for advice. I thought it would be easier now, but it’s not. It’s worse than ever and I’m terrified it won’t get any better.” Derek pauses for a moment, pressing a hand to his chest as though he could find some physical impediment blocking his lungs and making it hard to breathe.

“And sometimes,” a broken, humorless laugh rips itself from his lips, “I have the most fucking selfish thought in the world. I wonder what it’s like to just stop, the pain and the sadness and the grief. I want to leave it all behind, except I know I can’t. The pack needs me; _Stiles_ needs me.”

Derek’s voice is soft. “What am I supposed to do? I’m so sad and I don’t know why!” Anger, frustration, and an inundating sense of helplessness drive his voice into a shout. It feels good for a moment, adrenaline rushing through his veins. But then Derek is still left there, alone and staring uselessly at a dozen graves that will forever represent his biggest mistake.

“See, that’s the thing,” comes a new voice. “Sadness, it doesn’t need a reason.”

Derek doesn’t turn to look at Stiles and stays seated on the ground. Stiles plops down on the grass beside him, casting a sidelong look. “Trust me, happiness can’t be forced, alright?”

“I wasn’t sure if you would come,” admits Derek, feeling guilty at his lack of faith in Stiles.

“Sorry I may or may not have totally forgotten that today was the anniversary.” Stiles sheepishly scratches the back of his neck. “I know I can be an asshole, but I’ll admit this was a new low even for me.”

“It’s fine.”

“Yeah, about that. It’s really not. You’ve never forgotten the date of Mom’s death, not once. But that’s a conversation for another day.” He waves it away. “Right now, I wanna ask you if you really feel like… what you said.” Stiles’ voice is light, but his eyes are scrutinizing and worried.

Derek looks away, ashamed. “Yes. Sometimes. I… sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Stiles retorts quickly, reaching out to grip Derek’s hand tightly. “Don’t ever apologize for how you feel, got it? Your feelings are valid and good—okay, maybe not ‘good’ per se, but they deserve to be acknowledged. _You_ deserve to be acknowledged.”

“You know you’re not actually my therapist, right?” The corner of Derek’s mouth quirks up almost against his will. “Considering you’re the one who made me go to her, you should.”

“Hardy har har. You’re hilarious, Derek. Really, you should get your own stand-up comedy show. You’d make millions,” deadpans Stiles. He absently rubs circles on Derek’s palm with his thumb. “But seriously, I mean, I’m obviously not exactly overjoyed that you feel like shit. But it’s not the end of the world either, you know? Like, it’s okay to not be okay. If that makes sense.”

Derek just shrugs and grunts noncommittally, face going hot at the idea of Stiles being privy to his earlier outburst. It seems childish now that he looks back on it, a second of lost control. He’s not proud and glares harder down at their intertwined fingers. “It just feels useless to… to feel like this. I’ve had it so much worse before, this should be nothing.”

“Derek, it’s not a competition. Just ‘cause things are less craptastic than they used to be doesn’t mean you don’t deserve better. Just ‘cause you’ve been doing pretty good lately doesn’t mean you can’t have a bad day.” Stiles tips his head to look at him, amber eyes earnest.

“I guess.”

Stiles narrows his eyes at the unconvincing answer, but decides not to push it. Instead, he asks, “Have you eaten at all today?”

“Not hungry,” Derek shrugs.

Stiles wants to sigh. It’s almost 4 in the afternoon. But he holds himself back. “That’s alright,” Stiles says, pushing the In-N-Out bag away. “We can eat later.” He doesn’t doubt that Derek feels way too shitty and sad to eat, will probably feel like that for a couple days at least, but Stiles is determined to get him to nibble on a little something or other. Grieving is officially an unacceptable reason for Derek to stop taking care of himself.

“Hey, Mrs. Hale,” Stiles nods respectfully to the headstone. “Mr. Hale, Sarah, Abbey, Eli, Madison, Dylan, Tyler, Regan, Julie, Ian, Laura. What’s up, guys?” His heart breaks a little bit more with every name. Eleven people died in the Hale fire plus Laura later. He doesn’t think he’ll ever quite get over the sheer magnitude of lives lost. “Can you all please tell Derek to get his head out of his ass and eat something before he starves? Thanks.”

Stiles yelps when Derek playfully punches his arm, rubbing it and loudly complaining that it’s definitely going to bruise.  _Goddamn it, Derek. I’m just a fragile human, take it easy._ But when Derek reluctantly reaches for the abandoned In-N-Out bag, Stiles internally fist pumps. He may also do a half-aborted actual fist pump, but no one can prove anything. Not even Derek with his suspiciously squinted eyes and almost-there-but-not-quite smile.

It’s almost physically painful to watch Derek pick at his burger and Stiles eats all the fries himself, but it’s progress. A few months ago, Derek probably wouldn’t have eaten anything at all, so Stiles lets it go.

And when they both leave the cemetery after a couple more minutes of Derek quietly talking to his family, Stiles wants to believe that there’s something lighter about the set of Derek’s jaw and the way he holds his shoulders. He might not be okay right now, but Stiles is certain that none of these setbacks will matter in the morning.


	2. It's Been 2 Years Come This May (Since I Watched Them Walk Away)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is right after 3a when Derek and Cora are leaving Beacon Hills. Enjoy!

_It's been two years come this May._   
_Since I watched them walk away._   
_I lost all my friends in an all out war._   
_They took their bows, and they locked their doors._   
_And I don't feel okay._

* * *

 “Will you come back?”

Derek glances at Cora, who’s staring listlessly out of the Camaro’s passenger window. She’s in the same exact position as when they left Beacon Hills in the dust a couple hours ago. He knows she took Boyd’s death the hardest, struggled even more than Derek. He guesses being trapped in a moonless bank for months can do that to a person, forge a bond that Derek had no way of ever truly comprehending. He wonders if she’ll ever recover from it. “I don’t know, Stiles.”

“Beacon Hills is your home,” protests Stiles, tinny voice crackling over the crappy Bluetooth connection. “You and Cora have to come back.”

Derek tightens his grip on the steering wheel, eyes going steely as he glares at the open road leading them away from the town they grew up in. It’s surprisingly easy to drop everything and just get away, reminds him a lot of the first time when it was him and Laura running from fiery ghosts. Everything’s different now, but the vague sense of déjà vu lingers.

“We need you.” Stiles’ words are quiet, almost lost in the rumble of the engine and the hum of the asphalt flying beneath the car wheels.

Something in Derek’s chest clenches at that and his breath catches. Oh God what Derek would’ve given for someone to be there for him and Laura after the fire when their whole world was crashing down around their ears. It makes him sick to think about the fact that he’s leaving a bunch of teenagers, a bunch of mere kids, on their own to deal with life pissing on them and calling it rain. He isn’t sure if his presence will alleviate anything, it hasn’t done shit for them so far, but he also knows he has to try.

But then Derek remembers Cora laying on his bed in the loft, pale and and sweaty and dying. His blood turns to ice at the thought of what would’ve happened to her if he hadn’t been there. He knows then, with an unshakable certainty, that he needs to get Cora the fuck out of dodge before Beacon Hills eats her alive. He lost her once; Derek doesn’t know if he can survive it again.

And after? Well, Derek isn’t sure. He could stick with Cora in whatever tiny niche she’s carved out for herself in the world. They could stay in hiding, create a new life in South America and try to pretend like they aren’t both scarred beyond recognition. They could act like nothing is wrong, could keep trying to act like they’re the same—like shoving square pegs into round holes.

Or, he could return to a tiny town in NorCal where things that go bump in the night are real and animal attacks are surprisingly common.

“Derek?”

“Cora’s leaving. She’s not coming back.”

She hasn’t had a place in Beacon Hills for a long time and coming back just proved it. Cora’s not the same little girl who used to wrestle with Laura out in the preserve and find fox dens in the woods.

“And you?”

“I don’t know,” lies Derek. But the truth is that he’s known what he was going to do the moment that Stiles had asked him to come back. The call means someone wants Derek around, even if it’s just some human kid, and that’s more than he’s had for a long time.

Cora would be okay without him, had done just fine without her older brother for years after the fire. But Derek can’t stand being alone, hasn’t ever truly been alone until Laura died. He needs his pack, even if said pack is comprised of moody, stubborn teenagers.

“You should come back,” says Stiles. “Think about it. And thanks a lot for taking off in your stupid sports car without saying goodbye, you asshole.” Then he hangs up.

When Derek came back for Laura, he had every intention of finding what killed her and then never looking back. And that plan has blown up spectacularly in his face. But the difference between him and Cora is that Derek doesn’t have anywhere that he does belong anymore. He doesn’t have a home to return to, so what does he have to lose? While Derek sure as hell doesn’t have a place in Beacon Hills, he wonders if having one person who sort of, in not as many words wants him there is enough of an incentive to make a place.

He isn’t sure. But maybe he wants to find out.


	3. It's Been Hell These Past Few Days (I Just Want to Fade Away)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so i'm thinking derek left at the end of sophomore year, so in nyc derek is a junior and laura is a freshman in college. this chapter is actually very derek-centric. not much sterek oops

_It's been hell these past few days._  
_I just want to fade away._  
_But when my sister tells me, "Please hold on."_  
_Cause without me she just can't go on._  
_I know I need to be okay._

* * *

The hardest part isn’t leaving Beacon Hills, or watching the orderlies in impeccably white scrubs wheel Peter away into the nursing facility he probably won’t ever leave, or even falling to his knees in the gravel before the burnt out husk of his childhood home. Although, that last one could sure give any memory a run for its money.

No, the hardest and worst part is Derek having to drag himself up out of bed every day to face Laura, who’s done nothing wrong but had her entire family ripped away anyways. It’s the kind of corrosive guilt that feels like a thousand white hot barbs slowly wrenching his chest open until he can’t breathe.

If Derek ever truly believed in gods or God with a capital G, he doesn’t anymore. Now, he doesn’t even believe in himself. He can’t meet his only remaining sister’s eyes, barely eats, does his best just to dwindle away so he can’t cause any more destruction or pain. He knows that’s what’s best for everyone.

Or, at least, that’s what Derek tries to do. He refuses to get up in the morning until Laura whips his sheets back and only half-mockingly threatens him with bared teeth and flickering crimson eyes. His own irises flash electric blue in an automatic response and his aching limbs start moving of their own accord. He doesn’t go out except on the occasional grocery run that Laura strong arms him into despite the fact that they live in New York City and are probably considered freaks for not just having their groceries delivered.

It’s not even that he’s sad, really. Derek is just too numb, too raw to truly compute something as complex as grief. He just _exists_. But sometimes he swears he can feel the phantom flames that never touched him gnawing at his skin, and other times he can’t feel anything at all. He’s not sure which is worse.

Their first real fight in New York City is after a solid two weeks of Derek laying in bed, unmoving except to use the bathroom and eat every now and then. He loses his temper after Laura’s umpteenth attempt to get him to get up and _do something with his fucking life_ if he’s just going to skip school everyday. He yells something about her not having enrolled in any college courses either, so can she shut her Goddamn mouth before he slams the apartment door shut and storms out.

Laura lasts about thirty minutes of straining to hear Derek’s fading pulse before she gives way to panic. She’s bolting down the hallway and racing down the stairs, heart beating out of her chest—because what if something horrible happened to her baby brother?—only to find Derek pacing nervously in the ground floor lobby. She flings herself at him, arms wrapping tight around the only piece of home she’s got left. Derek’s crying into her hair, promising to never leave her like that again. They can’t afford to fight and walk away when they’re never sure they’ll get to say a proper goodbye.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she chants into Derek’s chest, hugging him close and relaxing into his comforting embrace. The alpha part of her lets out a relieved hum as it reunites with its pack.

“I’m sorry too,” Derek sniffs. He wonders how the prominent Hale family of Nor Cal was reduced to two snivelling teens just trying to survive on the wrong side of the country and one comatose vegetable. Then he remembers that it’s all his fault and closes his eyes. He tries to lose himself in memorizing Laura’s scent, all sharp mint and homey warmth.

So as much as they act like they can’t stand each other, they both know the kind of love they share, burned and scarred as it is, isn’t easily broken. Wolves are meant to be pack creatures.

And Laura, she’s his rock even when Derek is terrified that the storm won’t ever end. Later, when Laura is long gone and Derek finds himself truly alone for the first time in his life, he will gaze unseeingly at the mirror and admire his sister’s seemingly endless strength. He will wonder, awestruck, how she managed to stay so put together when he was all but falling apart at the seams. But for now, Derek will let her anchor him down when he wishes the howling winds and shrieking sleet would take him away.

After that, something in Laura changes. She seems more determined than ever to be the best alpha she can even though she’s flying by the seat of her pants. She hauls him out of his room every day, plops him down in the rickety chair at their tiny table that takes up half the kitchenette, and sets a plate of half-charred bacon or watery oatmeal in front of him.

Half the time Derek doesn’t touch it, stomach growling but mind rebelling at the revolting thought of food. But his wolf takes comfort in it all the same, in the knowledge that there is at least one person in the world who gives a shit about his wellbeing. It’s an instinctual sensation, something that has Derek nodding his thanks even on the days he can’t choke down a forkful of tepid eggs. And the times when Derek does manage to take a couple bites are his favorite because Laura’s smile is blinding.

It’s moments like that which make him wonder if maybe they’ll be alright after all.

So they putter along like that: sure as hell not happy, but not drowning in the new city that’s said to eat people alive either. They have each other and that’s all that matters. When the Big Apple is too loud—honking cars, laughing people, hipster music floating through the air at one, two, three o’clock in the morning—they cling to each other and try to remember the peaceful nights in the tiny town they grew up in.

Laura finally persuades Derek to return to high school for the second semester of the year before finding a local community college to take a couple courses at. “Mom and Dad would’ve wanted us to finish our education,” she says firmly. Derek’s mouth snaps shut, swallowing down any more protests.

And life goes on like that. Derek graduates from Midwood High School on time after taking a couple summer courses to make up for the semester he missed. Laura has never looked prouder. Even though all she says is, “Good job, Der,” and ruffles his hair affectionately, Derek is practically drowning in the sheer joy she’s radiating.

Laura is halfway done with her Bachelor’s in Linguistics at NYU, but she’s thinking of switching her focus to Romance languages. They have enough money to do nothing for the rest of their lives and still live well, so Derek had encouraged her to study something she was interested in. By the end of her first year, he’s almost fluent in Spanish and has a basic grasp of Portuguese and Italian.

Naturally, since everything seems to be going smoothly, something eventually comes along to fuck it all up. Derek shouldn’t be surprised, but somehow he is.

“You’re joking, right?”

Laura sighs. “Derek.”

“Laura,” he parrots back, voice pitched and mocking.

She glares at him. “What are you, like, five?”

“You’re telling me that you’re going to drop everything we have here and go back to Beacon Hills, where we swore we’d never go back,” snaps Derek. “How am I supposed to act?”

“It’s not forever.” Laura rubs her temple with one hand. “I’m coming back. I just have some things I need to wrap up over there. We left in such a hurry after the fire that we weren’t really thinking about official or financial things. Now it’s time to clean up a little of the mess.”

“Hire someone to do it,” Derek retorts, tone suddenly desperate. “You don’t need to go there in person. You have to stay here. You have to stay with me.”

“Do you feel it too?” she whispers.

Derek nods, swallowing. “I’m scared if you leave me, you won’t come back.”

“It’ll be fast,” Laura promises, opening her arms so Derek can hold her close and bury his face in her neck. “A week tops.”

“Take me with you then,” Derek mumbles. “Don’t leave me here.”

Laura’s heart trembles at that. She knows Derek might never grow out of the separation anxiety he’s developed after the fire, but she’s also leery of taking her brother back to the place that wrecked him in the first place. But that doesn’t change the fact that she still needs to get back to the west coast ASAP. Some kind of supernatural storm is stirring, she’s sure of it, and she needs to try to stop it before it gets out of hand. Even though they fled years ago, Laura still feels some sort of inherent duty to protect Beacon Hills as best she can.

“I can’t,” she says finally. “You’re starting school in a couple days. You can’t miss freshman orientation. College is a big deal, Derek.”

Derek grumbles unhappily, but Laura can tell she’s winning him over. She knows how excited he is to start his history degree. Social Studies had always been Derek’s favorite class back in high school.

“It’ll be fine, but if I…” Laura takes a shuddering breath to reign in her emotions. She needs to be strong for Derek. “If anything happens to me—”

“Laura, don’t,” growls Derek, squeezing her fiercely.

“Der, you have to hear it,” she says firmly. “You need to.”

“ _Please_.” To him, it feels like defeat or resignation to say this pre-farewell. To have a backup plan like this means admitting that someday something will go wrong and Derek will lose everything he has left. That is unacceptable. How could he ever recover from something like that?

“No matter what,” Laura whispers, feeling Derek stiffen in her arms, “I love you. I love you so much, Derek.”

He rasps out, “I love you too.”

“I know.”

That doesn’t make him feel any better a few days later when Derek lets out a sharp gasp as dark grief lances through his chest like a sword. Fighting to breathe through the crippling pain, Derek feels the moment he’s left all alone. He bites back rib-cracking sobs as their meek pack bond shrivels and fades with Laura’s life. Suddenly, New York seems so much colder and empty than before.


End file.
